


Just Stan

by Tell_Me_Tales



Series: Travels and Journals [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, College, Dating, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Featuring Stan the Twinless, Genetic Chimera, Genetic Mosaic, Glass Shard Beach, Growing Up, He's one of those two at any rate, Heterochromia, High School, Older Brothers, Pick your own headcanon, Pines Family circa 1960s, Pines Family circa 1970s, Polydactyly, Slice of Life, West Coast Tech, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-02 16:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13322247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tell_Me_Tales/pseuds/Tell_Me_Tales
Summary: In the year 1952, the Pines family welcomed one Stan Filbrick Pines into the world. Funny, what changes -- ordoesn't-- when would-be twins are, instead, born a singleton.





	1. Of First Dates and Older Brothers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure there are plenty of versions of twinless Stans in the GF fandom, but I saw [this](https://notllorstel.tumblr.com/post/136677100886/justin-f-pines-cause-lyingsaint) and [this](https://notllorstel.tumblr.com/post/136635744906/stan-stany-stan-stan-no-duo-just-solo-two) by [Llors](https://notllorstel.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and got inspired. And so here I am, writing yet another AU. Oops!

**Dimension 10**  
**Glass Shard Beach, NJ**  
**May 24, 1968**

Stan shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line. He doesn't go out to watch movies often, doesn't really like the theater with its crowds, sticky floors, and over-priced popcorn, but Carla had wanted to celebrate getting back to her previous straight A's status. More specifically, Carla had asked him to go with her and he hadn't been able to refuse.

For a second, he'd thought she was asking him on a date, but no. This is a 'thank you' for tutoring her, like he hasn't been taking her money for the pleasure, as it is -- _was_. The problem is getting her back up to straight A's marks the end of her need for further tutoring and he's, well, he's grown fond of her in the short time he's known her. Maybe more than just fond, judging by the instant case of butterflies when he'd thought this was a date followed by a stupid amount of disappointment when he'd found out otherwise. He's not sure if it was just the novelty of getting asked out that caused such a reaction or not -- he'd brushed off the disappointment easily enough, after all -- but the dissatisfaction brought on by his realization that he's lost his reason to continue meeting with Carla keeps nagging at him.

Stan's left hand fists inside his pocket and he uses the right to push his glasses back up from where they've slipped too far down his nose.

Maybe he wants to date Carla and maybe he doesn't. He isn't sure. The thought is too new. He hasn't had time to analyze it properly yet. He _is_ sure that he doesn't want to lose all contact with the girl, but that's what's going to happen unless he can come up with some reason to keep in touch.

Is there a way to ask a girl out on a not-a-date without closing off any chances of maybe dating later? If there is, Stan needs to figure out what it is in the next ( _five-to-ten minutes before the movie starts, approximately one-and-half hours run time, about fifteen minutes to walk Carla home if he sets a slow pace_ ) two hours, because that's probably all the time he has to do so.

"My purse!"

Stan snaps out of his headspace and back into reality to see some skinny punk with his mitts on Carla's handbag. His left hand is out of his pocket and smashing into the creep's face almost before he knows what he's doing. Carla squeaks in surprise as the would-be thug collapses in front of her. Stan flushes under her stare (Not that she's the only one staring, but she's the only one that _matters_.) and stumbles over his own tongue as he says, "Uh... He was bothering you? Are, are you okay?"

Carla can be impulsive. He knows her well enough to know that much, but he still isn't prepared when the girl pounces on him, balancing up on tiptoe to help close the gap in height and wrapping her arms around his neck in an unexpected hug. "Whoa!" He wraps an arm around her waist without thought as he tries to refind his balance and keep them both from ending up sprawled out across the sidewalk.

His brain short-circuits when she kisses him.

Date. A date would be good, he decides. Very good. Once he remembers how to form words, he might even figure out how to ask for one. Hopefully with a goodnight kiss at the end.

There's a couple of wolf whistles from the other movie goers and Carla instantly releases him, face bright pink. "S-sorry! I, uh, th-that was a bit much, wasn't it?" she stutters, nervously playing with the strap of her purse, "I just -- That was really something, Stan. Thank you."

Stan opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. Nothing comes out.

Screw it. He has just under two hours to relearn how to speak and ask a girl out on a date, but for now... For now, Stan grabs her hand and laces his left hand's six fingers around Carla's five. She blinks at him, gives her own fingers an experimental wiggle that causes Stan to loosen his grip, but ultimately returns his grasp and shifts to stand just a little closer than she had been.

Okay, then. This is... This is good. He could get used to this.

* * *

**May 25, 1968**

It's early. Crazy, ridiculous, why-aren't-I-still-sleeping _early_ in Stan's book, but Sherman has always been a morning person and Stan's hoping that hasn't changed since his older brother moved out. Personally, he hadn't been able to sleep a wink last night. A hellish mix of anxiety and impatience had seen to that.

A light flickers on in what Stan knows is the small house's kitchen. "Finally," the teenager grumbles, hopping off the hood of Sherman's car. (He should probably start saving up for a car of his own if he's gonna take a real stab at the dating-thing, shouldn't he? That's a thought for later, though.) Stan does his best to ignore the dew-formed damp patches in his jeans as he knocks on the back door.

Seconds later, Shermie Pines' surprised face replaces the woodgrain his younger brother had been staring at. "Stan?" he asks, eyebrows making a slow climb up his forehead, "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Sherm," Stan returns, "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Sherman says even as he waves his brother in and closes the door behind him, "but what's going on? You're usually still in bed at this time of day."

The teen shrugs, dropping into one of the kitchen-cum-dining room table's chairs. "I need advice. Dad wouldn't be any help and Ma would be _too much_ help, ya know?"

The older Pines squints at the other. "There's a very specific group of topics that fall in that category and nearly all of them deal with emotions and people," he states as he settles into his own chair.

Stan squirms. "Yeah, that kind of advice."

"Stan..." the man grins, "Are you here for _relationship advice_?"

He scowls up at his brother for a second but he's certain the flush he can feel covering his face ruins the desired effect. "Maybe?" he huffs. Honestly, the man doesn't need to look like he's halfway prepared to either choke him to death with affection or laugh in his face. (Or both. That's a real possibility with Shermie.) "I don't know! It's more like hopefully-there-might-be-a-relationship-later advice. I asked a girl out, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do after that."

Sherman's smile somehow stretches wider. "You take her on that date you promised her, Knucklehead."

"I know that much!" Stan glares at the beaming man, "C'mon, Sherm, stop teasing! I'm serious here! I need help!"

"Right, right," Shermie clears his throat and wipes the grin from his face. His eyes are still laughing, though, the overgrown toddler. "So," he says, "let's start with the basics. What's her name?"

"It's Carla."

"Is this the same Carla you're tutoring?" Sherman asks, smile returning, "I _knew_ you liked her!"

" _Was_ tutoring. She's caught up, now," Stan corrects before frowning and asking, "What do you mean you knew I liked her?"

"You talk about her. Specifically her," Sherman explains, "Everyone else is 'this idiot' or 'that ignoramus' or 'the moron is so dumb I'm tempted to tell him to cheat off the nearest house plant if it means I can stop tutoring him' but you actually call Carla by name, and I'm pretty sure you have from the start."

"Everyone else I tutor is just looking to avoid flunking out. Carla is actually interested in doing _well_. Of course I talk about her differently!"

"Uh-huh."

Stan fidgets under his brother's patient stare. "...Is it that obvious?"

"Oh, yes," the elder replies gleefully. Stan buries his face in his hands with a groan and Sherman laughs. "But probably only to someone who knows you well," he relents, "No insults about her intelligence. No grumbling about rude questions. Actually, I can't recall you saying a bad word about her; which is practically a glowing review on its own, coming from you. Also, your voice generally pitches a little higher when you start talking about her, like just thinking about her puts you in a better mood. That was a pretty good indicator, too."

Stan lifts his head enough to peek at Sherman over his fingers. "I didn't know until yesterday," he confesses quietly.

Shermie chuckles softly, rising to collect a pair of mugs from the cabinet and the coffee pot that just finished brewing. "So, now you know, and you've apparently already asked her out," the man sets a steaming cup in front of his younger brother before reclaiming his seat, "What do you need my advice for?"

"I don't know. Everything?" Stan stares into his coffee mug. "You and Leslie seem happy. How do I get from a first date to _there_?"

The older Pines chokes on his drink. Shermie slams his cup down on the table. "You mean _married_?" he sputters, taking a moment to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, "Stan, I think you're a bit young to be worried about that."

Stan shrugs. "So?" He blows the steam away from the surface of his coffee and takes a cautious sip. He doesn't know how Sherman drinks the stuff so quickly without scalding all the taste buds off his tongue. "I gotta learn sometime, don't I? And I'm not sayin' I'm gonna marry her, but, y'know, just in case..."

"This would be your first girlfriend, Baby Brother," Sherman cautions him, "Most guys aren't lucky enough to find their wife in the first girl they start dating."

"Yeah, but it's not impossible, either," he refutes easily. Stan looks at his brother with a wry expression. He waves his left hand in front of his own face and says, "I'm not exactly a stranger to long odds." Between the fully realized polydactyly in his left hand and the heterochromia of his eyes, he's quite the genetic anomaly.

Sherman rolls his eyes. "True enough," he agrees, just as he always does when Stan reminds him that 'improbable' is not outside the realm of all possibilities. "Alright, when is this date, anyway?"

"This afternoon."

"And where are you going?"

"The pier. They've got a carnival set up right now."

"Have you kissed her yet?"

Stan sputters. "I, uh, no, I haven't -- Well, she kinda -- I mean, I haven't kissed her but she, she kissed me. T-twice. A-and one a' those was just on the cheek, s-so 'm not sure i-if that even counts." He has to be red as a tomato right now.

Shermie cracks up. "Oh, Ma is going to have a field day when I tell her!"

"You can't tell Ma!" Stan objects, eyes wide behind his glasses, "She'll fuss!"

Sherman only laughs harder.


	2. Principal Without Principles

**April 24, 1970**

"Stan Pines to the Principal's Office. Stan Pines to the Principal's Office," the PA system crackles, startling said teenager from the half-doze he'd been in.

He frowns up at the speaker in the ceiling as he tries to think of what he's done recently that would be worth calling him to the Principal's Office for. He can't think of anything. (Carla's been on his case, lately. You can only get so many detentions and, consequently, be late to meet your girlfriend so many times before it gets you in _real_ trouble.)

"You heard her, Pines," the teacher says without turning away from his blackboard, "Get out of my classroom."

Stan scowls at the older man as he gathers his stuff into his backpack. He sticks his tongue out at his teacher's back on his way out. Childish? Yes. But, then, no one has ever accused him of being particularly mature.

Stan stashes his backpack on the chair outside the office and is through the door before the secretary bothers to look up from her nail file. Both his parents are already there, of course, but no one looks overly upset so Principal Harper probably hasn't vented whatever the latest grievance against him is, yet. He doesn't have to wait long after he claims the seat between his parents.

"Now, Mister Pines I'd like to speak with you very frankly if I may," Principal Harper says as an opener.

Stan doesn't bother to hide his eye roll. He'd put good money on his father doing the same behind his sunglasses.

"Very frankly is the only way I speak," Filbrick replies.

"Your son has been accused of cheating on his science fair project," the other man states.

" _What!_ " Stan objects, standing quickly enough send his chair skittering back a few inches, "Are you kidding me?"

Principal Harper continues as if the outburst hadn't happened, "This 'perpetual motion machine' he claims to have created is not only well above any project he has turned in over the previous years, but actually impossible."

"What do you know about what's scientifically possible, you quack?" Stan demands, "If you'd read the _paper_ , you'd know the full title is 'Modern Materials and Techniques Suited to the Preservation of Energy and Motion in Machinery.' It's not supposed to be a _literal_ Perpetual Motion Machine, but that was a whole lot easier to get across to the masses than the real title. Not to mention trying to fit it on the poster board! It's called _advertising_ , you schmuck! And why bring this up now? Why not when I turned it in? Why not during the fair? Who even accused me of cheating? Was it Crampelter? I'll bet it was that creep Cram--"

"Stan!" Filbrick finally snaps, "Sit down!"

The boy's jaw shuts with a click and he falls back into his seat with a foul temper and crossed arms. Honestly, he's a bit surprised his father let him get as far as he did. Regardless, he hasn't even done anything wrong (this time) and it grates that he's still in trouble.

"My son's behavior aside, I agree," Filbrick says and Stan suddenly understands why his father let him go for so long. The old man is itching to do some yelling of his own but he won't let himself, so he let Stan do it instead. He ducks his head to hide his sudden smile. He knows Pops isn't impressed with him for losing his temper, but Stan still feels vindicated knowing the man at least disapproves of the accusations, too. Filbrick continues, "If he was suspected of cheating, why wasn't it brought up earlier?"

Principal Harper looks like he caught a whiff of something repulsive at the same time someone shoved a lemon in his mouth. Stan wishes he had a camera.

"In light of this being Stan's final year of highschool, the staff was prepared to overlook your son's sudden proficiency in his science fair project," Harper says.

Okay, so the Perpetual Motion Machine was admittedly a big step up from last year's Foot Bot, sure, but his teachers had to have realized by now that he treats the school's science fair like the joke it is, right? (C'mon! Foot Bot had been _hilarious_!) It's not like he's ever been given a reason to put any real effort into it. Well, until Carla had pestered him into actually trying to do something on his level this year. And, alright, she may have had a point. He'd enjoyed the challenge. He's proud of this year's project, alright? And he's not about to let anyone take that from him, let alone if that 'anyone' is Principal Cosmo Harper.

The principal goes on, "However, somehow it came to the attention of the admissions team from West Coast Tech and they're interested in seeing the project for themselves. There's no need to waste their time on this _farce_ , so we'd like to clear up the misunderstanding before they make the trip all the way here only to be disappointed with a cheap scam." Translation: we don't care enough to do our jobs so long as the paychecks keep coming, but now we're going to get called out on our laziness and might lose our jobs over it.

Stan glares at the man. _'Jokes on you, Harper,'_ he thinks viciously, _'It's not a scam.'_

"I see," Filbrick says. Most would miss it, but Stan can hear the extra irritation in his father's voice. "I'm sure you consider these measures very expedient for everyone," the man continues, "Do you have any proof that Stan cheated?"

Principal Harper falters. "W-well, no, but surely you realize that your son --"

"Put far more effort into this year's project than he has in any one before it? Yes, I noticed. It's been taking up his entire room and half my dining table for the past five months or so. As opposed to the half-week he usually spends on it, if that."

Stan smirks at the man across the desk. His father has his back on this one and no one argues with Filbrick Pines and wins. (Well, except Ma, but that's different.)

Harper sputters, trying to bring the meeting back under his control but failing to find an appropriate response. Filbrick gets tired of watching the other man flail after a handful of seconds and takes charge. "Now, what's this about an admissions board?" he asks.

"You can't seriously believe your delinquent of a son has a chance getting into West Coast Tech!" the principal exclaims.

Stan stiffens and it's only the sudden weight of his father's hand on his shoulder holding him down in his seat that keeps him from jumping to his feet again.

"Stan," Filbrick warns tersely and the boy forces himself to stay silent. Satisfied with his obedience, at least for the moment, the pawnshop owner bluntly states, "I have no idea if he has a chance of getting in. I've never heard of it before, but I assume West Coast Tech is some kind of college?"

"The best in the whole country!" Principal Harper answers in something of a sulk, "The students there turn science fiction into science fact!" The man pulls out a pamphlet and reluctantly hands it over to Filbrick. "West Coast Tech only accepts students that are certifiable _geniuses_! There's no way Stan qualifies!"

Even hidden behind the reflective lenses of his sunglasses, Stan can tell his father doesn't even glance at the glossed paper as he accepts it from the principal only to immediately pass it to Stan. The teenager's curiosity manages to outweigh his dislike for his principal and he opens up the pamphlet as soon as it's in his hands. Ma peers over his shoulder and he tilts the paper so that it's easier for her to read along.

Harper adds, "It would be a mockery to have them come out here for this sham! It'll turn our school into a laughing stock and they'll never look twice at one of our students again!"

Filbrick shrugs. "From the sound of it, they're already on their way here and it's too late for you to save face, anyway," the man answers without pity, "Maybe the boy won't measure up to their standards, but that's something between this admissions team and my son. Not you and your faculty."

"Woah," Stan breathes as he goes over the pamphlet. He doesn't know what his probability of being accepted into this West Coast Tech is, but the school itself looks amazing. There are courses listed that actually sound interesting. And there are labs that have better equipment and higher quality materials than anything he's ever dreamed he'd be able to get his hands on. The personal achievements of some of the college's students that the handout boasts are nothing short of extraordinary. "Dad," Stan speaks up, practically shoving the pamphlet under his father's nose, "Dad, look!"

Filbrick pushes his son's hands down and sends him a stern look before turning to consider the information printed on the handout. The pawnshop owner's eyebrows make a slow trip up his forehead as he reads. "That... seems very impressive," he admits, and then he asks Stan, "You think you actually have a shot?"

"I don't know!" the teenager says with a grin. This would be a challenge, but the reward is well worth taking it on. Besides, the biggest take away he'd gotten from his science project this year had been discovering that he actually enjoyed an academic challenge. Why not build on that? "Pops, I want to try."

"Right," the man nods and turns to Principal Harper, "What time will that admissions team be here."

Harper sighs in defeat. "Tomorrow afternoon," he concedes, "They should arrive at around three."


	3. A Crossroads About College

"...and the admissions team is swinging by the school tomorrow afternoon! How cool is that!" Stan rambles excitedly as Carla looks through the pamphlet.

"Pretty cool," Carla returns with a grin, "Think you'll still have time for _Galaxy Trek_ when your busy making real life teleporters?"

"Heh, got to steal my best ideas from somewhere," Stan quips, "Teleporters might be a bit much to tackle first, though. Would you settle for a communicator? I got a few ideas about how to..." The smile has slipped off his girlfriend's face. "Carla?"

The girl startles at hearing her name. "I'm fine!" she exclaims, then winces. The younger teen refolds the thin booklet and sets it aside. "Sorry, Stan. What were you saying?" she asks. The new smile she wears is fake.

"Nothing important," Stan dismisses, puzzled by her behavior, "What's wrong?"

Carla hesitates. "The school is in California," she admits.

He frowns and picks up the pamphlet. He hasn't really thought about _where_ the college is located, but he's not sure why it matters much. "Yeah, guess so," he shrugs and looks back up at his girlfriend, "It's West Coast Tech, after all. Makes sense for it to be somewhere on the Pacific seaboard."

Carla grimaces. "Yeah..."

"Alright, something is definitely bothering you," Stan huffs. He hates when she gets like this, all false cheer and quiet withdrawal. Usually it means he's done something stupid again. "Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?"

"There's nothing wrong!" Carla insists, an artificially sunny smile on her face, "This is an amazing opportunity and I'm happy for you! And, I mean, you never liked it around here much anyway and it doesn't get much farther than California, so..." The girl breaks off the sentence with a nervous laugh. "No, no! It's all good! I'm sure California will be exciting! It would be silly to expect you not to go when your future's right in front of you like this!"

"Carla, what --"

"Sorry, Stan, I need to go," she rambles on quickly, "Some of us aren't crazy smart geniuses and need to study for finals." Carla kisses his cheek and scoops up her bag. She brushes her bangs back from her forehead and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay! Uh, probably after your big presentation, so, good luck! Bye, Stan!"

And then she turns tail and practically runs away.

Stan stares after his girlfriend for several seconds.

"What was _that_?" he asks the near-deserted beach, gesturing with both arms in the direction Carla had disappeared. Seriously, he hadn't even gotten a real goodbye-kiss.

He pieces it together easily enough once he stops to think it through. Carla started getting squirrely after she realized that West Coast Tech was in California. If Stan manages to land the scholarship, come this fall, he'll be across the country in California, too. And Carla will still be here in New Jersey because she's a year behind him in school and she doesn't turn eighteen until early January.

West Coast Tech starts to seem a little less incredible.

But it would only be a year, right? And, sure, it would be kinda expensive but he could probably scrape together the funds to come visit for at least Christmas break. And...

And long-distance relationships had abysmally low success rates. Would Carla even want to try? Was he looking at his last summer with his girlfriend? Was this it?

Stan falls back to sit in the sand and stares out at the ocean. He's wanted to leave this place for so long but... this is home. It's still everything and everyone he's ever known. The idea of going somewhere else -- anywhere else, not even necessarily California and West Coast Tech -- is awesome but also kind of terrifying. Is he really ready to leave it all behind?


	4. Where Knucklehead Meets Poindexter

Breaking into his high school after hours is child's play. Though the truth of the matter is that the lock on the gymnasium door has been busted for ages, so he's really skipping the _breaking_ part and going straight to the _entering_ bit. Of course, considering what his plans are, maybe he's just doing it in reverse order. An 'entering and breaking'? Does it even count when he's breaking something that belongs to him to begin with? Eh, whatever.

Stan sets down his backpack in front of the table and stares at the rotating arms of his project.

The little contraption works like a dream. He's spent hours upon hours working out the hiccups and reducing friction in sticking points, balancing weights and adjusting lengths, scrapping parts that just didn't cut it and shelling out the extra bucks needed for better materials. It may not be a physics-breaking perpetual motion machine, but it _is_ a carefully constructed low-loss kinetic energy model. He's proud of the first school project in years that he's put real effort into. Proud of the thought, effort, and time he's put into it. Proud of the result he's managed to achieve.

And, because he's a huge sap, he'd named the silly thing. At some point, he'd started thinking of it as 'Anne.' He supposes he could bullshit some sciency-sounding acronym to fit the letters, but anyone with half a brain and knowledge of his girlfriend's full name could see through that in a second. Carla was the one who encouraged him to build Anne, after all.

Funny how he made a machine that's sole purpose is to spin in circles and now he's come full circle himself and needs to destroy it.

Stan reaches out and lets one of the spinning arms run itself into his open hand.

Anne stops dead against his palm.

"Sorry, Anne, just the way things gotta be," the teen genius sighs, "But, hey, I'll send you off to that scrapheap in the sky in way more style than if you'd just worn down on your own. So, that's something." Stan grabs the screwdriver out of his backpack. "Now, let's see about getting you ready to make an impression on those bigwigs from Cali!"

* * *

Stan arrives early for his interview with the WCT admissions team. He beats back a cringe as he sets Anne to spinning again with a firm push. Yeah, anyone else might not be able to tell there's anything off about the machine, but he can. That start-up had been a lot rougher than it should have been. Or, well, rougher than it should have been before he'd repurposed the gizmo.

Anne seems to be relatively stable, though, and the countdown is started. It's only a matter of time, now.

"Are you Stan Pines?" a voice behind him asks several minutes later.

The teen spins around and pastes a grin over his face. "That's me!" he answers and shoves his left hand in his pocket. There are three important-looking out-of-towners standing at the entrance to the gym. Oh, and Harper.

Show time.

He offers each of the three strangers a handshake. "You must be the West Coast Tech admissions team!" Stan says, "I'm looking forward to being able to show you my project. But maybe not as excited as _Principal Harper_! He's the one who sold me on the idea of talking to you guys!" The man in question is glaring at him in suspicion by this point. Not that that isn't the right reaction for him to be having. "He thinks the world of your college! Was really eager to have you come out here!"

The admissions team looks at the principal and Harper starts to sweat. "Ah, yes! It's a real honor to have you all take interest in one of our students!" the man says quickly, "I can only hope West Coast Tech might consider some more of our students in the future."

"He's modest," Stan confides, "I'm sure he put in a lot of the legwork behind the scenes to get you all here!"

Yeah, Harper definitely knows he's up to something after that. He might be laying it on a bit thick, but... Well, that's half the fun, frankly, so he isn't about to stop. Stan grins back at his high school principal and raises his eyebrows just a little.

"Well, let's see this project," one of the WCT team says. Honestly, the guy sounds like he's already bored out of his mind.

Stan frowns before remembering to keep his smile in place. Whatever the man's problem is, he won't be bored for much longer. "Sure!" he agrees, waving the three closer and stepping aside to reveal Anne, "I built a perpetual motion machine!"

"That's physically impossible," another man from the team states blandly but dutifully comes nearer to inspect the whirling doodad on the tabletop.

"Eh, might be a slight stretch," Stan admits, "It's actually a demonstration of energy-preserving techniques and the principles of inertia."

"How long has it been in motion?" the last member of the team asks, showing only slightly more interest than their comrades.

Minutes. "Nearly half a week, now," Stan lies.

"Have there been any problems?" the first member asks.

"There were some hiccups in development," the teen says, "but it's been running perfectly since the fair."

He couldn't have timed it better if he'd tried. The first of the tiny smoke pellets he'd swapped in for the larger ball bearings finally gives and smoke begins to pour out of the machine.

"Oh-no! What happened?" Stan says, fighting back a grin as the team backs away, "I swear it was working as intended!" And still is, but they don't need to know that.

"Pines!" Harper growls.

The rest of the smoke pellets activate, producing an even thicker fog around the 'mal'-functioning project. Anne makes a terrible grinding sound followed by a high whistle as heated air slips through every gap in the machine's construction.

"Everyone down!" Stan screams.

He hadn't put the screws back in when he'd reassembled Anne and he'd been careful about where he'd placed everything. He _thinks_ he know where everything is going to fly, but better to give warning than risk having to deal with a personal injury lawsuit later.

Everyone hits the deck just in time.

The heat buildup from his custom-made smoke pellets sets off the firecrackers. The firecrackers in turn pop the entire top-half of the machine's base off and send it crashing through the poster board display behind it. Sparks and little pieces of metal fly into the air before raining down with little _plinks_ around the table.

Four stunned adults and one highly amused teenager are left behind in the wreckage.

Stan looks at Harper. Harper looks at Stan. The teen can't keep his smile in check any longer and offers an insincere, "Oops?"

"PINES!" the principal bellows, "You are expelled! Get out of my school!"

"What?" the teenager asks dumbly.

"You heard me! _Out!_ "

 _Shit._ He may have crossed one line too many, this time.

Stan holds his hands up in surrender before grabbing his backpack and beating a hasty retreat while Principal Harper stumbles over his apologies to the WCT team.

A block away from home, Stan realizes in sudden dread, "Pops is gonna be _pissed_!"


End file.
